Secundum Nex
by nalagaOcean777
Summary: We know what it's like for the shinigami. But what's it like for the plus spirit?


Disclaimer: Not mine. You know it.

* * *

There was no way that anyone could have seen it coming.

Then again, thinking back, the situation in question was not something that often came up in the busy thoughts of a middle school teen, especially one that would be both a member of the Student Council _and_ vice-president of the Arts and Crafts Club, and therefore in charge of buying new supplies every other weekend at the local mall, while at the same time having to constantly check your watch to make sure that you didn't end up completely missing midday piano lessons, but still somehow simultaneously holding an animated conversation with your bubbly best friend and shopping partner that simply wouldn't stop _talking_.

No, death had never been hovering over my mind like a looming cloud about to break out in floods of depressing rain at any given time, rest assured. I was more inclined to worry about things a bit nearer at hand - more, uh, down-to-earth, say. But then, who really _does_ think about death when you're, well, _alive_? I certainly didn't, for one.

But now…now…I'm starting to regret that.

Then again, that's kind of something to expect when you find yourself lying face-down on a cold marble floor, blinking the stars of a concussion from your eyes while you suddenly register the fact that your back hurts like _hell_ and you're bleeding to death.

_Bleeding._

In all of my short fourteen years of life, I'd never gotten an injury any more serious than a paper-cut, a scrape to the knee, or maybe an extremely nasty bruise or two. And so you can imagine my surprise at the raw pain coursing through me, at the burning-hot wet dampness seeping into my shirt and onto the floor. I can only lay there, completely stunned, unable to move so much as a finger, my friend's screams ringing out the syllables of my name to deaf ears. And all the while, my weirdly malfunctioning brain is churning out one single coherent sentence over and over, a mantra so absolute that it leaves not the faintest shred of hope left in me that things might turn out otherwise.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to _die_.

…There was no way that anyone could have seen it coming.

I didn't even get the chance to look over my shoulder, dammit.

It had happened so fast…there I was, feeling hassled and annoyed, several bags full of art supplies hanging off the crook of my right arm, my friend chattering obnoxiously into my ear at the top of her lungs as we walked, myself attempting to make a beeline for the nearest clerk. The mall had been busy then, full of haughty teens clustered in groups debating over who would pay for what, old men and women relaxing on benches with a morning cup of Starbucks coffee in hand, and families with little kids clinging to their parents' arms, eyeing the nearby ice cream stand longingly. Typical Saturday morning, really. Saturday, my favorite day of the week.

Ironies, ironies.

It had happened then, at that exact moment. You could almost feel disaster approaching in the few seconds before it actually occurred. I don't know, it might have been the way the place went quiet ever so briefly, the way a few people's eyes suddenly strayed to the entrance, as though spotting something strange or unusually alarming. Either way, those were the only warnings I'd ever got.

The shots had broken out, then. Three, to be exact, cracking the air like little whips. They'd been random, too, I'm sure of it.

It was the third one that got me, in the back, to boot. I never knew what hit me. Just…the _force_ of that bullet…it was simply indescribable. It threw me off my feet. I lost my grip on all the shopping bags. I hit the ground hard, cracking my head on the marble. My friend had shrieked, the most awful sound I had ever heard.

And now here I am, bleeding on the floor.

Dying.

There's shouting all around me now…screaming…I wonder if anyone else had been hit. I honestly don't know which answer would be more comforting, but I don't want to know anyway. Not like I'd find out in this condition. Are those more shots? I can hardly tell now. Everything seems…so far away. My head hurts. My back hurts. Everything hurts. Bad. I don't hear my friend anymore. Is she alright? Had she run away? I hope so. I don't want her to die too. Not like this, annoying as she was. …Ugh. Something's…wrong. Suddenly my own breathing doesn't feel right. There's something…wet. Gah. This nasty taste…like iron. Or blood.

Oh god.

Oh dear god.

It strikes like a hammer. Fear. Wait…no, not fear.

_Terror_.

This couldn't be happening. This could _not_ be happening. There's…no way. No. Way. What did I do to deserve this? Why? I…I can't just die! Not now! Not like _this_! I have _goals_, for goodness's sake! I…I still have so many things to do! I don't _want_ to die! Not yet! Not _ever_! Not until I'm a woman, at least, an old, old woman in my deathbed, with a hundred grandchildren and a loving husband by my side, and a luxurious mansion to lend them, knowing that all of my family will get on well enough without me! I want to die content, dammit! I want to die knowing that I actually _did_ something for the world!

I…I…

I don't wanna die…

And yet…

You know it in your gut, somehow. Things like that. Don't ask me how. I'd rather not know. In fact, I'd rather not know a lot of things at the moment. Like how I might be coughing up blood pretty soon. Like how much of a scene I must be making, just lying on the floor like this, my life trickling away.

Like how my family's going to react when they find out…that…

Everything's woozy now. It doesn't hurt so much anymore. Not really. Just…numb. Numb and tingly. Suddenly I feel more cold than anything…cold, and lightheaded too. The air moving through my lungs feels way too wet for my liking. I swear some of it might be dribbling out of my mouth already…but no. I'd better not think about that.

Heck, I'd better off not think about anything at all.

It feels like ages. Years. I don't know. I don't care. Something in my brain has been rendered incapable of distinguishing time. At some point or another, though, I can feel fingers…fingers grasping my shoulders. And a voice. A trembling voice. Muttering my name in shaky, hiccupping breaths.

The grip tightened, and suddenly I find myself being lifted up, turned over, much to my chagrin. The pain rears in for attack then, tearing through my insides like white fire, but I can't really do anything about it, not even gasp. I'd just choke on my own blood if I did that.

Light strikes my eyes, weirdly blinding light, and for a moment I can only squint, trying not to breathe too hard. All the same, though, it's getting harder to do just that. And there's a new pain now, a pain in my chest, like a little ball of thorns that's slowly growing bigger and bigger.

When my eyesight focuses somewhat, though, I actually forget all about that temporarily when my friend's face suddenly swims into view. Her eyes are red and swollen, and tears are already trailing down both of her cheeks. Her black hair, usually tossed in a awry bun of some sort or another, is now loose and wild. The hands grasping my shoulders are trembling violently. She says my name again…though actually, it comes out more in a whimper of some sort, swamped in thick layers of tears and disbelief. Her eyes are huge, wide open, filled with something that I can't quite decipher. All I know is that she's probably going to be traumatized for life now, because of this.

That's when the urge comes on, the urge to say something, _anything_. Some sort of final parting word, maybe a message to my family…I don't know, _something._ And yet, when I open my mouth, my voice remains stuck in my throat, nothing willing to come out.

Around that same time, something inside of me shifts, something important, something that was probably holding me balanced on the fine line between life and instant death.

And the moment that thing shifts, my world is one of darkness…and regret.

Lots and lots of regret.

* * *

I am dead.

There is no denying that fact. Anyone would know. It's just the kind of thing that you can't really mistake or cover up.

The bloodied corpse in my weeping friend's arms was testament enough, certainly. The slight teenage girl with blood dribbling down one corner of her slightly open mouth, hair completely astray, her face paper-white and adorned with wide, glassy eyes, was me without a doubt.

Dead.

It was kind of creepy, really, looking at myself like that. It was like looking into a morbid mirror or something…yet I just couldn't tear my eyes away from that scene. I just stood there, watching everything, watching the way a couple of paramedics and a policeman arrived on the scene, uttering soothing words to the trembling person that had been my best friend, gently prying her fingers away from my limp shoulders, helping her off the bloodied floor. I watched the way more people arrived with stretchers, watched as they lowered _me_ onto one of them…watched the way they inspected me for any signs of life before procuring a white blanket and draping that over my prone form. But…there were so many _more_ of them. More stretchers, more paramedics, more sirens as more ambulances arrived somewhere outside. There were still people in the mall, too, a whole, strangely silent crowd pressing in from all sides, backing away solemnly as more police came out, unraveling the yellow tape, keeping them at bay. Some of those people were weeping, while others clustered in tight-knit groups, holding each other, murmuring softly to comfort one another.

And there were bodies, more bodies, bloody bodies…everywhere…

Not one of those people paid me so much as a glance as I stood there, watching it all. It was that fact that abruptly brought me back from my numb reverie and into reality. Which really wasn't so pleasant at all, what with the following question that chased its way through my head.

Wait a minute…

Why…

Why was I still here…

If I'm…if I'm already…

Dead…?

I look down at myself then, wondering. Yet I look exactly the same as I ever had - heck, I'm still wearing the shirt and pants I threw on this morning, both perfectly clean and unblemished. Raising a hand to feel the material of the clothing, just to make sure, I'm startled by a soft clinking noise…a sound coming from my chest…and then I notice it for the first time.

A chain.

A broken chain.

Sticking out of my chest…

Baffled, a place a hand on it, but then jerk my fingers away after the lightest tap. Weirdly enough, it hurts just to touch the base holding the chain…an odd ache that ripples through my chest in a hollow sort of way. Like the feeling you get when you're homesick, or really sad, or lonely. Except that they've all been thrown together into one solid bar of emotion.

Apart from the chain, I feel pretty much the same…taking a step forward, though, I note that I also feel strangely light for some reason. But then, was that really a surprise? I _was_ dead, besides…maybe I was a…spirit, or something? But then, that didn't make any sense, really…wasn't I supposed to have 'moved on' or whatever?

On the other hand, what did I really know about life after death in the first place?

"Ah, look at this…what a mess…"

"Really, the things these people in the living world do to each other…"

"Tell me about it…twenty-three plus spirits to be purified, all created almost at once! It must have been some sort of massacre. The sooner we get this done, the better, I'd say. This kind of concentration of spirits would be enough to attract any respectable Hollow in the area."

"But that's why we're here in the first place, ne?"

"True, true…"

"Well then, let's get started, shall we?"

I look up at the sound of voices, and it's only then that I notice them for the first time. More people. Except that these are drastically different from all of the police and paramedics and pedestrians…hell, they're wearing black _hakamas_, of all things! Stuff from the era of Feudal Japan! And…are those swords strapped to those sashes?

Blinking, I immediately step back, though it doesn't look like they've noticed me yet. Not that they could have, then again, with the way everyone else was reacting to me…right? Noticing how none of the other people in the mall seemed to react to the black-clad individuals at all, I suddenly find that I'm not so sure. Who are they, really? …Ghosts, maybe? Spirits like me? They could have been part of the death count of some forgotten war thousands of years ago…but why didn't _they_ have chains? This wasn't making any sense.

Then again, nothing was really making much sense as of now, so I suppose that was a moot point.

When the sword-people began noticing me, though, I started to get fairly uneasy. Especially when they all started fingering those katanas of theirs. All at once they were all walking towards me, shredding any previous hopes that they might not have been able to see me. Contrary to what they obviously wanted me to do, I began backing away even more. I don't know why I was pulling away, really…they might have been able to help me, after all…but I just kept retreating anyway despite. At length I broke into a run, ignoring the shouts that rose up behind me, and I found myself barreling through the mall's front doors before I could so much as try to stop myself.

Dashing down the sidewalks, which were crowded with people all pressing towards the mall to find out what had happened, I just kept on running, not knowing what else to do. Somehow those sword-people in black made me feel…uneasy. Just looking at them had instilled a weirdly subtle fear in me, fear for something that I couldn't rightly identify. The constant ache in the chain on my chest wasn't helping that notion much, admittedly.

I was completely ignored as I continued to run for what seemed like hours, utilizing my newfound lack of weight without really trying. Sprinting past a huge shop window brought me to an abrupt halt, however, and after I'd completely stopped I found myself backtracking despite everything. I stopped in front of the window, which had some plastic models and clothes on display.

The hollow feeling in my chest still prevailing, I peered into the glass, staring at the reflection it cast.

Or rather, the reflection that wasn't there.

People walked past, mirrored perfectly. Cars swept by, matched wheel for wheel.

But where I stood, directly in front of it…there was nothing there.

Nothing but empty air.

A weakness entered my knees as the realization, the actual fact, the _proof_, began to sink in. Suddenly feeling the fatigue of a marathon catching up to me, I sat down right there, my back to the glass, and I gathered my folded legs in a hug beneath my chin in a sort of fetal position, staring blankly at the vague forms of the busy people that swept past, feeling as though a tsunami had officially wrecked what was left of my brain. The chain in my chest clinked disconsolately as I shifted slightly, only bringing the situation home even further.

I…I was really _dead_, wasn't I? Gone to the world, now a faded memory to anyone that had ever known me. Dead, dead and gone.

Gone…

I'd never be able to tell my mom how much I really liked her homemade cake, the one that everyone else seemed to hate. I'd never be able to go fishing with my dad, the way he had said we would when summer vacation finally came and we could go camping. I'd never be able to tell my brother I forgave him for trashing the flowerbed I'd been assigned to grow in sixth grade. I'd never be able to admit that _I'd_ been the one to abduct that entire jar of peanut-butter cookies when no one had been looking, that night when I was twelve.

I'd never be able to quit the student council in flying colors and much degrading, the way I'd fantasized for months the moment the whole thing had gone downhill. I'd never be able to take off on a career as a pianist, touring the world and garnering a worthy musical reputation. I'd never be able to know the euphoria of graduating college and tossing one of those weird hats in the air, just for the sake of it. I'd never be able to live up to that double-dare my friend had given me last Tuesday, and eat a rocky-road-and-chocolate-chip-mint-double-deluxe ice cream in three minutes without barfing my guts out.

I'd never be able to go kayaking and skydiving, I'd never be able to scale Mt. Fuji like I'd dreamed as a little kid, and I'd never be able to try out ice skating, just to see how many times I'd fall ungracefully on my ass without breaking it. I'd never be able to know how it felt to be in an anti-gravity environment, and I'd never be able to try out a private sea voyage across every body of water in the world.

I'd never be able to tell my family and my friends how much I love them all with every piece of my heart and soul, and how I'd do anything to just _be_ with them again, to just talk and laugh and have fun with them like I had when I'd taken it all for granted. When I hadn't been thinking about death at all.

No…I'd never be able to do any of that now. Because I was dead.

Dead and gone.

Forever.

I didn't hear it the first time, so wrapped up in my misery I was. I did the second time, though, the sound just loud enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. At the same time an eerie shiver ran through me, raising goosebumps on my skin, driving me to rise unsteadily back on my feet, the sensation of being hunted suddenly reluctant to leave.

Apparently the day was beginning to end. I really _had_ been running for a long time - or maybe I'd been sitting there against the wall longer than I'd thought. The sky above me is now painted in vibrant shades of orange, though, casting long shadows on the street in front of me and reflecting blindingly off the window behind my back.

I look around, feeling slightly out of sorts, the memory of the sound I'd just heard refusing to be ignored. It was kind of hard to describe exactly what it had been like - some sort of distant blending of a howl and a scream, very long and drawn out, reaching such levels that it would chill anyone to the bone. However, studying the people still traversing the sidewalk in front of me, it seemed that no one else could hear it at all.

Then again, they were all alive, unlike myself. Maybe it was just a death…thing?

All the same, I follow these weird new urges and start walking again at a brisk pace, trying my best to keep myself from passing through anyone as I start off down the sidewalk again. I still have no idea where I'm going, but somehow moving just feels…safer.

That is, until I turned a corner at an intersection, anyway.

After that, nothing was safe at all.

I see it before it sees me, which I suppose is one small plus among hundreds of negatives. The thing is huge, unimaginably huge - at least as tall as a couple of elephants stacked on top of each other, and probably just as wide. I notice its arms and legs immediately, though I can't really tell one from the other because there are so damn many of them. Just standing there I could count out at least eight of the said appendages, long and lanky and weirdly bony, topped off with bleach-white claws or hideously long nails that scrabble at the ground disgustingly. Its body is on the round side, adding to the weirdness of its looks - the skin is pitch-black, and to top it all off there's a _huge_ hole punching right through the thing's _chest_, where its heart probably would have been.

It was just standing there, looming right next to the sidewalk, halfway inside of a memorial park and halfway on the cement, its back facing me. But the moment I fully register its presence, the thing turns around. And I get a first-class view of a grinning, twisted, bone-white mask, complete with glowing red eyes that stare right into mine.

Chaos ensues.

It moves fast for something so huge - a fact I realize just a little too late. Another one of those blood-curdling howls fills the air, a thousand times louder than before, and then the thing launches itself forward in a gigantic leap, leaving huge gouges in the sidewalk _and_ the park turf. People scream and throw themselves out of the way, as though the thing had been invisible to them the entire time - but that's the least of my worries. That thing was jumping towards _me_.

I just wasn't able to get out of the way in time. Unsurprisingly.

Spirit or not, the pain is pretty real.

The sheer intensity of it leaves me struggling to breathe, and it takes me a few seconds to figure out just what happened. Though, then again, I'd have probably been better off not knowing. Nobody would be very happy to discover a humongous clawed arm being thrust right through one of their shoulders.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

As quickly as it had come, the said arm detaches from me just as suddenly, pulling itself out with a sickening sucking sound and bringing me to my knees. I can feel the blood flowing again…great, wonderful. So even when I'm dead, I'm still able to bleed. The day just keeps getting better. Sarcastic thoughts running rampant in my mind, I attempt to move my left arm, which had been connected to my now-mutilated shoulder. There was no response. What an astonishment. The chain on my chest tinkles shrilly as I struggle back to my feet and somehow render myself able to lurch to one side, narrowly dodging a claw that comes shooting my way. Then, throwing whatever quirks I might have had to the winds, I break out into a dead run, bolting straight into the memorial park without looking back.

What else could I ever seem to do but run, really? I couldn't think of much else, panic governing most of my actions at this point.

Yes, panic. You heard me. I was finally getting around to the 'panic' phase in the psychological disaster zone that had been my brain.

I'd barely cleared a few yards before I received another earful of angry monster, the howl barely serving as an interlude before the thing suddenly slams down in front of me again, undoubtedly clearing another huge leap to get there. Its leering white grin fills my vision as I force my pumping legs to a halt, stumbling backwards. Not that I could have lasted very long running like that anyway.

But that's all beside the point.

No, trivial things like that are tossed aside when the monstrosity throws me for a complete and utter loop.

"Hahahaha…little, little human…my, but you do look tasty. And the size of that chain! You haven't been about very long at all, hm? Just out of the grave, eh?" The red eyes survey me hungrily. "Oh, but I do so like them fresh…this will be a good meal. I just can't wait to hear your shrill little screams!"

Okay.

It was bad enough that it was a big, fat, ugly monster with huge claws and more arms than I could count that was obviously after my guts. But it was a totally different matter when it was a big, fat, ugly monster with huge claws and more arms than I could count that was obviously after my guts _and could talk_. That just made things worse. A whole lot worse.

Maybe because the words it spoke were painting a rather gruesome picture involving me getting eaten alive.

And that just didn't sit well with me.

At all.

…Wow, my thoughts were turning into smaller and smaller sentence fragments, now weren't they?

The black, leggy blob in front of me takes advantage of my temporary shock and chooses that moment to pounce, several of its arms lashing out. Jerking backwards, I can feel claws grazing my shoulders and sides, shredding the flesh right off and bringing about fresh waves of _intense_ agony. My method of death seemed a lot gentler and painless in comparison, if that's enough to describe the tiniest fraction of the suffering my body's going through at the moment. Good god, I must be spilling gallons of blood right now.

Such morbid thoughts.

I just can't help it - the small whimper escapes my lips as I find myself once again sinking to my knees, the chain rattling shrilly, almost as though in protest, as the monster looms nearer, its leering grin a white mask of horror above my head. I feel arms, more arms, disgustingly slimy, sinewy limbs, closing around me, lifting me completely off the ground. The coils of moldy muscle around me tighten unbearably, and I could swear I felt something snap in my chest, possibly a few ribs.

And with blood came bones, but of course. Being a spirit didn't have that many pros, by the looks of it.

My wavering eyesight reveals two glowing red orbs inches from my face, a long pointed nose nearly spearing into mine. And then the bleach-white grinning mask is moving, the jaw opening, that creepy voice arising again…and I can't stop shivering as the damp, decaying breath of the thing washes over me, smelling of death long done over.

"Hahahaha…pretty, pretty little human, aren't you? I was a human once too, you know. I always did like pretty little girls. And they taste so very good, even now. Just look at you, little thing…all covered in blood and shivering. What a sight, what a sight." Another one of those laughs. God, I do hate this monster. "I'm going to tear you into little pieces and eat them one by one, just because you're so cute! You should feel honored, little human…I usually don't grant so much doting attention to the likes of your kind…"

Oh joy. I feel so very privileged.

As the monster then proceeds to almost lazily embed another one of its claws deeper and deeper into my abdomen, practically peeling my skin away, my brain goes into some sort of last-resort mechanism, almost shutting off completely. My eyes are still open, but I can't really see anything. I can hear those disgusting giggles, but I can't really register them. I can feel the burning, white-hot, totally _indescribable_ agony ripping through my very fibers, but I can somehow ignore it.

In the end, I find myself down to thoughts and thoughts alone. Sarcastic thoughts. Despairing thoughts. Neutral thoughts. But thoughts all the same.

And I can't help but wonder…

…could you somehow die…

…if you were already dead?

Surely not.

"Destructive art number thirty-three, Shakkaho!"

And all of a sudden my brain is speeding back to the present, the pain, the noise, the sights…and I can only widen my eyes as a huge blast of red comes seemingly out of nowhere, striking the monster square in the side.

It probably hurt, due to the fact that the monster responded to this sudden occurrence with a piercing shriek, its arms completely losing their grips on me. I hardly feel it as I hit the ground face-down, the resounding thud of flesh against earth absolutely nothing in comparison to what I had been experiencing mere seconds before. Feeling blank, almost bemused, my consciousness sticks around long enough to pick up the sound of voices, several voices, raised in indistinguishable shouts…more shrieks on the part of the monster…the hiss of a blade swiping through the air, followed by the nasty sound of something splattering onto the ground…

At that point, however, my strength finally gave way completely, my brain totally shutting off, casting me into an oblivion of blessed, painless darkness.

It sure was a hassle, being dead.

* * *

"How is she doing, Yamada-san?"

A voice, a weirdly familiar voice, seeps into being out of the void, echoing and faint, but at the same time weirdly nearby, almost right beside me. From what I can guess, it sounds like a guy…and a worried one, at that.

Another voice drifts into existence after the first, pretty different from the last one. Another guy, by the tones, but younger-sounding, and very humble, almost timid.

"I have done what I can for her, f-fukutaichou. By the time she wakes up, she should be ready for konso."

There is a sigh, possibly relieved, though I can't tell for certain. "Well, that's…that's good. At least now we can leave this place with a clean conscience. I thank you for your time, Yamada-san."

"A-Ah, no, you don't need to, sir, it was nothing. We of the fourth division were sent here to serve as backup in the first place, in case anything went amiss. It was something I would have done anyway, even if you hadn't asked…"

"Well, if you'd rather have it that way, so be it. But I'm grateful all the same." A sound of rustling cloth punctuates the end of this sentence, very close to my ear, as though someone is sitting down beside my head. From my apparent vantage point I can also hear the slightest of hitches in the guy's breathing, as though in pain.

Apparently, the 'Yamada-san' catches this indication of an injury as well.

"Oh, but fukutaichou, you're injured as well! Allow me -"

"No, it's nothing," the guy intervenes quickly, cutting off the timid voice with that firm statement. "I'm sure I'll be able to take care of it once we get back to Sereitei. If anything, I believe I got off quite lucky, though." I could hear the frown in his voice now. "That Hollow…it looked and attacked like it was only a stage or two away from becoming a Menos. I'll most definitely have to include this in the report to the Captain…"

My head's beginning to ache slightly, or maybe it had just been throbbing all along and I'd only just now noticed. All the same, I can't help but groan inwardly at the indication. Heck, everything's feeling achy at the moment, but all this talk about hollows and menos and…'Sereti' or whatever…well, who wouldn't be wanting an aspirin at the moment? Not to mention the fact that I can't seem remember why I'd gotten into this state in the first place…

But…

Wait a minute…

Ah, crap.

I'm dead.

This time a real groan escapes from my own mouth, cracking halfway through my throat and coming out like a malformed croak or something. However, it does the trick, effectively silencing the increasingly confusing conversation that had been taking place around me. Taking this as a sort of cue, I then resignedly begin the long and tedious task of making sure I'm still in one piece and capable of normal movement. After successfully lifting my fingers - with both arms, surprisingly - I try shifting one leg, and then another, and then raising my hand and flattening it on my head, patting down matted hair. At length, I cut the chase and open my eyes, squinting at first due to the amount of blinding brightness. However, once that slides back into focus, I find myself surveying two heads looming above mine.

They're human, fortunately. Both of them are guys, as I'd already predicted. The one to my right was pretty unremarkable, with tired eyes and a long face, coupled with uninteresting violet hair framing said face in flat bangs and strands. The face to my left, on the other hand, is not quite as bland, depicting a young man with pale skin and yellow hair, most of which is thrown over one eye in a single long bang. The half of his expression that I can see has an eyebrow furrowed in concern, a single bright blue eye surveying me closely. They were both wearing black, exactly like the sword-people in the mall, though the guy to my left also had a band of some sort strapped to one arm with the number three clearly emblazoned on it.

I train the brunt end of my attention on the blond just because, and we both have a small staring contest. At length, of course, I decide to break the silence - bluntly.

"And who the hell are you?"

Okay, so normally I wouldn't be this rude to _anyone, _most especially a stranger, but I'm in a crappy mood, and so I think I could be excused just this once. Seriously, who wouldn't be at least slightly pissed after dying a totally unexpected death, discover that you're not in fact as dead as you seemed, and was then attacked by a blobby monster with a hundred legs and arms that wanted to eat you alive? Not me, that's for certain.

And so I deliver the statement with all due flatness, and then sit there calmly, just daring the guy to ignore me. Which he doesn't, fortunately. Though he looks slightly surprised by my apparent attitude, especially after being scraped from the edge of the cliff of death-a-second-time-over, he answers anyway, and he's polite about it, for which I give him at least one point. I personally thought I deserved all due courtesy, after all I'd been through.

"Well - my apologies for not introducing myself earlier. I am Kira Izuru, fukutaichou of the third division, and my companion to your right would be Yamada Hanataro, who is the seventh seat of the fourth division." Here, at last, his intense gaze wanders over to the painfully uninteresting person beside me. "You can thank him for healing your injuries, if you'd like to. He was primarily responsible for mending them."

I let my own eyes wander back to Hanataro, who seems to shrink backwards almost involuntarily, as though unused to attention of any sort. I frown at him.

"I don't bite," I snapped rather irritably. "Sheesh…but thanks," I add, almost as an afterthought. Heck, I'd sounded way to harsh the last few times as it was. "I guess I owe my life to you…or death…or whatever…" And then the frown returns in all its confusion. Feeling almost crabby, I turn back to…Kira, yes, that was his name. Trying my best to be polite in return, (though such a feat was rather difficult when you were on your back and aching all over, whereas the guy you were trying to talk to was sitting beside your head), I decide that it's about time I got some questions answered. My life was at their mercy, anyways, and if they hadn't already killed me…again…then I guess they were friendly…for now, at least. And I really don't think I'd be able to keep from going totally insane without getting at least a few things cleared up.

"Alright," I say to him, still resigned. "Look, I don't know if you already know this, but…I'm, like, dead. As in, not living. I am…right about this, right?"

Kira nods almost immediately, as though he were almost expecting the question.

"That is correct, I'm afraid. To be exact, you are the twenty-third plus spirit to be created in a…massacre of some sort, which was initiated within a living world shopping facility."

"Plus…?"

"Spirit," Kira finishes. Again, he looks like he's been just waiting for me to ask. "They're entities such as yourself, separated from their material bodies, whose Chain of Fate has been severed. Or died, as you put it. Though a predominant number of plus spirits move on almost immediately after death, there are still many that tend to linger, bound to the living world due to a strong regret or a devotion to any one object or subject. And then there are simply some that don't know that they've died." Here his brow almost furrowed. "Those are by far the most difficult to deal with," he added, almost in a sort of half-mutter.

I don't really catch that last part anyway, too immersed in trying to make sense of the textbook material I'd just been handed. I'm pretty convinced that this Kira guy had at least met other…plus spirits…dead people, like me, many times before, the way he was going on. I was apparently one of those ones tied down due to regret, or something. But then, that was pretty true - heck, I most certainly hadn't been _wanting_ to die at the time, so I suppose that counted. An image of my friend's stricken face flashed through my thoughts, and my throat automatically closed. A bitter feeling rose in my chest, weirdly magnified by the chain protruding from it.

There were other reasons too, come to think of it…

I immediately sat up, surprising the two people yet again. Kira jerked backwards, while Hanataro practically fell over. Ignoring them, I bit my lip at first, clearing the dizzying swirl as my head caught up to the rest of my body. Then I hauled myself to my feet, chain clinking softly with my every twitch.

Before I can take another step, a firm hand grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks. Feeling almost feral, I whirl around.

"What do you want?!"

Okay, that sounded pretty hysterical. But suddenly I can't stop myself. The pain in my chest is suddenly increasing with every second, and before I know it I'm spouting every pet peeve I've had since I found myself dying on a marble floor, my friend's screams ringing in my ears.

"Look, you!" I snarl, leveling my gaze against Kira's sky-blue one with a fiery passion that I can't quite understand. "You may not realize it - _you've_ never died before, I bet - but I have a family, you know! I have friends, I have things that I wanted to do! And I've just lost all of that! Did you hear me?! _Everything!_" Now my eyes are burning too. A series of weird puncturing sensations runs up my chain, bringing new stabs of pain with them. Yet I ignore those punctures, because they're so much smaller, so much less important, in comparison to the one great pain, the pain building in my chest, in my heart. The pain of knowing that I'll never go home - the pain of knowing I'll never be able to lead a normal life again.

"You'd _think_ that the least you could do for this wreck of a soul is to step aside and let me _through!_ You know why?! Because I'm going home! Because I'm going to see them again anyway! Even if they'll never talk to me - even if they'll never know how much I really cared for them - at the very least I can protect them! Watch over them! Just - just talk to them, even if they'll never hear me…"

The punctures are getting sharper, larger, but still I don't care. My anger is suddenly replaced with a huge, black wave of deep despair, a mourning more complete and absolute than an endless void. There's heat flowing down my face, seeping into my clothes, which are still bloody and torn from my encounter with the monster. And it hurts…it hurts so much…to think that I'm dead…_dead_…

Kira's saying something, but I can't hear him. There's shouting all around me, more black-clad figures, crowding all around, a stark contrast against the vibrant green grass of the memorial park. Hanataro's worried face flickers past my vision - he's talking too, and all the other sword-people are shouting as well, pointing to my chest, where the pain feels as though it's eating me alive. They're drawing their swords, gesticulating, faces contorted in a variety of guises of fear, alarm, irritation…

And then there's Kira, again, grabbing me by my shoulders…my shoulders…my friend had grabbed me by my shoulders too…whispering my name…watching me die…waiting for me to say something to her…

I yank away from his grasp, rage flaring anew, and I find myself clawing my own chest, wrapping my fingers around the base of the chain and yanking, yanking, harder and harder…I want it _out_, this stupid thing that symbolizes everything I've lost, all the things I'd never be able to take back…but more than anything, I want to get rid of the pain, because I've felt too much pain already…because I want it to stop…I'm tired of it…tired of everything…

Kira's drawing his katana…and flipping it over…?

And now…

The pain…

It's gone.

I stare at the blond swordsman in front of me, my eyes wide in surprise, as the fog suddenly clears and the world is revealed in beautiful clarity, tinted with a cool, blue light that I'd never noticed before. There's something cool on my forehead, too…almost icy-cold, but a good kind, like a packet of ice after a burning fever. And Kira withdraws his blade, the kanji symbols engraved at the base of its hilt glowing white and bright.

My hands fall to my sides, away from the chain, and I continue to stare at him, wondering how in the world I could possibly thank him enough…thank him for ending the pain, for setting me free. But he already seems to know the depth of my gratitude, the way he seemed to know the questions I'd been burning to ask him those few minutes ago, and he merely nods in return, sheathing the katana in one slow, fluid motion. As the blue light begins to overtake my vision, however, I can see him opening his mouth, forming words…

"I'm sorry."

His voice is the last to echo through my head as I'm dunked into a sea of light, as a euphoria that I'd never thought possible steals through my body, filling it with liquid sunshine, raising a smile to my features.

And then everything fades away into a distant dream, a vague memory, a whisper on a fleeting breath of wind.

My world becomes one of light…of peace.

Lots and lots of peace.

* * *

I open my eyes to a chill in the air, a soft murmur of voices, and a vast blue sky framed by dilapidated buildings that tower over my head, worn and broken.

I take a deep breath, feeling strange, lost. With some effort I sit upright, noticing that I'm clad in a baggy brown shirt and shorts, darned and worn as the shacks that surround me. I turn my head, watching as people drift past, hunched and furtive, a few eyeing me curiously or wearily before moving on to more important matters, as though my sudden presence was an occurrence so common and repeated that it was a factor of everyday life.

I blink, not particularly perturbed, and lean back, finding a solid wall to brace my weight on. For a while I just sit there, gazing at the pale predawn sky, which is lined with the faintest wisps of cloud. I sit there, and I think for a long while.

My memory is faint and fuzzy, distant threads that dissolve into irretrievable mist even as I grasp at them. A name drifts along, and I make a snatch at that, making it my own, before it, too, fades away…because it _is_ my name, and I know it somehow, despite everything.

After that it's all a mass of light and shadows, fleeting faces and broken sentences, faded laughter. A girl with wide, tear-filled eyes stares at me, and then the intent blue gaze of a blond man clad in black is surveying me from above, worried for my wellbeing.

There is light, blissful light, and happiness mixed with the faintest traces of regret, a regret then washed away by tides of peace.

…I frown, and then shrug it all off.

After all, it was probably all just one big, long dream in the end, though I'll keep the name, for lack of anything better, as I can't seem to remember my real one as of now. Faintly bored, I clamber to my feet - bare feet, as I note - and I take a look around, eyeing a nearby vendor setting up his wares for the start of market a few feet away. Crossing my arms, I start off into the dusty street, wondering if I could get away with snatching a few fruits and a jug of water in casual passing, feeling slightly hungry and all…

* * *

A/N: For those who are curious, _Secundum Nex _means 'After Death' in Latin, seeing as I couldn't find a more creative title for this oneshot.

Anyways, that aside, I hope this turned out alright. The foundation of this oneshot happened to be an annoying little plot bunny that had been nagging me for weeks, until I had to do _something_ to get rid of the bugger. Hopefully this will be sufficient in getting that out of the way…

On another note, I don't know if I'm alone in this, but I've noticed that 98 percent of all the plus spirits to be found in Bleach died due to a 'terrible car accident'. It seems a lot of people in the Bleach universe aren't fit to have a driver's license, apparently. O.o' As such, I wanted to come up with something a little different, and though death by gun isn't exactly unique, it was all I could think of in the moment.

Apart from all this rambling…well…praise? Criticism? Pointers on possible misconceptions on my Bleach vocabulary?? If any, tell me! I'll take anything to improve this oneshot…


End file.
